


The Third

by orphan_account



Series: Johnlock Ficlets 2017-2018 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: American AU, M/M, Mafia!John, Mafiaboss!john, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 07:32:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12930501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mafia boss John meets the most beautiful person in the world.DEDICATED TO ember88!! Comment first to get your name on the next ficlet!If you want more of this AU please tell me!!!





	The Third

**Author's Note:**

> im a slut for the new yorker accent.

Brooklyn, New York, 1922.

John Watson, the leader of the main mafia in the city, and his most trusted associates (as he called them) were on the lookout for something. The only thing was that nobody knew what he was on the lookout for - the general feeling in the air was a barely concealed panic. No one knew what was going to happen, nor what it was going to be, but they knew it’d be something.

Something.

John slipped out onto the roof of his hideout to have another cigarette. His eyes blazed with the light of the flame as he hastily struck a match. He sucked in heavily and exhaled quickly. His fingers tapped at the wall her was leaning against. 

John didn’t know what he was looking for, or so he told himself. He knew precisely what he was looking for. 

The whole thing began around a week prior. John had been in a bar, or a club. He hadn’t been paying attention. There had been a number of beautiful men and women there, one or two looked interested in him. John going undercover was extremely inconspicuous, he’d made sure, and none of them could have known who he was by casting their eyes on him. He’d been there to see if he could meet up with another gang leader, make an alliance, get some trade deals going. The mafia leader had just spotted the man he was there for, when he spotted…

Him.

A gorgeous man, beyond perfect. His eyes were soft and sharp at the same time, his skin paler than the moon, and his hair was dark as night. He walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, his plump lips moving around a beautifully smooth baritone. John’s heart thumped and he looked down, nerves flaring, to see what must have been something stuck in his chest. But there was nothing. John Watson, fearless mafia leader, harsh and strong, had just had a heart palpitation over looking at someone. Looking at someone. He hadn’t felt this way in years - there are things you have to do on the streets that you don’t come back from. For John, it had been killing his own mother and father after they refused him leadership of their small gang a number of years ago, when John was 21. He had slaughtered them outright, taken possession of their tiny mafia, and made it something bigger. Something respectable. He was 29 now, but his heart had never been the same.

But this - this man, this being, this… greek god, John’s brain thought dreamily (without his permission) had knocked the shattered pieces of his heart back into place. He was just about to touch the man’s shoulder and ask him to leave with him, when he realized the man had left without him. Without talking to him. Forgetting about his meeting, John had immediately whipped around and hurriedly demanded the man’s name from the barkeep. 

Sherlock. His name was Sherlock Holmes.

John had sunk back thoughtfully - he had to find the man. Combing the city was an option, a viable one. He tapped the counter impatiently and ordered another drink to calm his anxious behaviour, swilling the liquid around in his mouth. He kept getting distracted, disarmed, by this man and his gorgeous face. Sure, maybe it was a little love-at-first-sight-cliche, but John was never one to do what was expected of him. 

He asked around and found out more about this man. Like what his occupation was (of course he had to with the police, damnit), what he was like (answers varied widely - most of them came from people who were attracted to him, and these were very different from the ones from John’s friends), and if he could ever be charmed by a low-life like John Watson. Respectable and feared though he and his mafia were, someone as proper and clean as Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t get involved.

Would he?

John would just have to find out, now wouldn’t he?

So that’s why John was out on the roof, practically breathing in a cigarette like his life depended on it. To get away for a moment. He’d only ever been in love once before, when he was 24 - she’d been pure as cream and he’d been elbows deep in the crime life. She’d wanted nothing to do with him. He’d just gotten over her, about four months before. He puffed again, sending grey wisps up into the city night air. He finished with his smoke and dropped it to the ground, stomping on the embers. He slipped back into his quest to find Sherlock and approach him.

\--

Molly burst through Sherlock’s door, face pink and low-waisted dress swirling around her calves. Sherlock looked up from his microscope, annoyed. 

“Sherlock!” she gasped breathlessly, her New Yorker accent distorting her words slightly. “Lord, have you heard! John Watson - ‘ykno, the mafia leader?! - he’s been askin’ around! About you!” She was practically shouting, her eyes wide, her face splitting open in a grin. 

Sherlock’s brow knitted. “Why?” he murmured, his accent similar to Molly’s. He cleared his throat. “Why’d I be excited about that? Really dangerous, if you ask me! He could be tryin’ ta find out more so he could hurt us.” Molly shook her head frantically. “No! Word’s got out that he’s tryin ta get with ya! Ya know -” 

“Yes! I know!” Sherlock cut her off-

“Sherlock! This is so exciting!” she jumped back in. “He’s the most handsome number in Brooklyn!” Sherlock groaned and turned back to his microscope, adjusting some parts before saying, “I ain’t talkin ta him. I ain’t meetin’ him. Head of the mafia like that, he’s bound to be just aftah me to bail one of his buddies outta the big house.”

It was Molly’s turn to groan. “He’s been searchin’ everywhere! Mafia says he’s half outta his mind! He ain’t the same!”

But Sherlock only shook his head. “No. They’s lyin’. What’s a big mafia dropper like that ever want with a guy like me?” 

“Lots! He’s prob’ly lonely! Also-”

“No, Molls. He ain’t gonna be wantin’ no throwaway like me.”

“He’s here -”

“Why’d he make up such a big lie, though - wait, what?”

Molly smiled nervously. “I was about ta tell ya-”

John popped through the door behind her and smiled longingly at Sherlock. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for ya."

**Author's Note:**

> Number: a person  
> Big House: jail  
> Dropper: hired killer


End file.
